


truly madly deeply

by kaermorons



Series: Witcher PTA AU [1]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Parent Teacher Association, Bisexual Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Bisexual Jaskier | Dandelion, First Dates, Found Family, Geralt is Ciri's Dad, Getting Together, Jaskier | Dandelion is a Mess, M/M, Mutual Pining, PTAU for Short, Romantic Slow Dancing, Single Dad Geralt, War Vet Geralt, Your Reward Is A Date With Jaskier, [i wanna know what love is plays louder in each chapter]
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-28
Updated: 2020-02-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:35:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22928824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaermorons/pseuds/kaermorons
Summary: Geralt du Rivia wins a date with Jaskier Pankrantz, the arts professor at his daughter's new school. What starts as a begrudged obligation blooms into something more, if they can trust love again.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Series: Witcher PTA AU [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1647940
Comments: 95
Kudos: 495
Collections: The Modern Witcher AU Collection





	1. Chapter 1

This was going to be the stupidest favor he ever returned for Yen. Most school functions were beneath Geralt, but when it came to Ciri, and Yen insisting that showing up to a PTA raffle was for her sake, he’d go. He’d been to a few Parent-Teacher Association meetings before, if just to socialize with Yennefer and update her on Ciri’s goings on, but this was the first non-business function he’d gone to since the horrible Independence Day celebration that summer.

A raffle, though. It seemed a bit dramatic to think of _attending a fucking raffle_ as a potential positive impact to his daughter’s life.

(“But I’ll be so bored, Geralt.” Yen had whined. “There’s a bougie open bar with free rich-people alcohol.” Geralt had agreed shortly after.)

He lied to himself the entire drive there. It was technically private property, so the school could serve alcohol, and that’s why he was going. He would need some kind of fortification to withstand the pack of ravenous single (and some, not single) PTA moms at Aretuza Academy. The small cafeteria had been transformed into a kind of lounge setting, with donation tithes everywhere. He didn’t have much in the way of money, but he would still show his face, if to help Ciri. Moving her to a new school, a new country, wasn’t what he expected to do eight years after being discharged, but Ciri had been taking the change rather well. Eight-year-olds were surprisingly adaptable.

A free raffle ticket was pressed into his hand at the door. The cheerful email he’d received some days before reminded him that each one cost ten dollars and directly benefited the arts program at the school. He took a quick glance at his numbers and forgot about them for the rest of the night.

After escaping to a darker corner of the cafeteria, Geralt was expecting someone to come bother him and sure enough, there was Monica.

“Ger _aaaalt_ ...What are you doing over here all by your _seeelf_?” Geralt prayed to any diety that would listen to send a natural disaster over the school to just end this conversation before it started.

“It’s too loud and bright for me.”

One of those annoying, pitiful looks overcame Monica’s botox-ed face. “Ohhh, is that because of the... _trauma_?” Geralt almost threw his drink in her face for even implying to know one shred of what he’d gone through. Fortunately, he knew shame worked against these women.

“That’s inappropriate to talk about here, Monica.” Geralt could have said, had his anger been any more controlled. Instead he just burred and stood, towering over her in a way that less implied than shouted, _this conversation is over_.

Yennefer fell into step with him on his way back to the open bar. “You could’ve just declared yourself too gay to talk about it,” she said lightly. “Probably would have been more permanent of a repellent.”

“Why do I feel that would make matters worse?” Geralt poured his laughably small cup up to the brim and held it against his lips before any could spill over. He met Yennefer’s bright eyes, full of mirth, and raised an eyebrow.

“Because you’re right, as usual.” They chatted for a few minutes before the main event began.

“The grand prize is a little different than what we’d usually do for one of these.” The microphones squealed a little with feedback. “For our grand prize, we are raffling off a _very special_ , one-time-only experience with our liberal arts professor that you won’t want to pass up.”

An excited titter filled the room, women and men alike gossiping to one another in quick whispers.

“You still have ten minutes before the final draw, so please get your tickets in as soon as possible!”

A trim, well-dressed man strutted onto the stage to present himself along with the other raffle prizes. Geralt couldn’t look away from him. Geralt shook his head slightly and took another drink, the memory of last July fading away like the tide. Waves of parents were approaching the ticket booth, waving money in the faces of the overwhelmed teachers manning the table. “This teacher special or something?” Geralt asked after clearing his throat.

“You probably wouldn’t know because you’re the shiny new toy of the PTA, but Jaskier is just about as popular as you are. He’s been dealing with parents’ advances ever since he joined the faculty. This should really boost the arts program.”

“You don’t sound amused.”

“Jaskier is shy. Whoever wins a date with him will probably eat him alive.”

Geralt grunted and looked back at the man, who was obviously comfortable up where he was, on the stage, safely away from the hungry parents, single or otherwise, eyeing him up like a piece of meat.

“I’ve seen sex traffickers with more decorum.” Geralt muttered to Yennefer.

“You don’t get to kill them this time, White Wolf.” She snarked back.

During his time in the Canadian Army, Geralt had attained a bit of a reputation for working best alone, but still protecting his team. It’s what got him through sniper school, it’s what got him through every combat mission, and it’s what kept him alive long before he’d ever donned a uniform. He’d earned quite a few nicknames from the men and women he served with. White Wolf. Nomad With A Gun. Executioner. Butcher.

The emcee coughing into the microphone once more brought the attention back up to the stage. “This is how our drawing will go. The first eleven prize-winners will have the chance to pick any of the eleven prizes on stage. The _grand_ prize winner has the choice of either accepting the wonderful company of one Julian Pankrantz for an evening, paid for by Aretuza, or choosing any of the prizes other winners have chosen. Should a winner have their prize stolen, they can either claim another prize, or the date, until everything is claimed.” Geralt hated the pomp and circumstance that went into all of this nonsense. He just wanted to pick up Ciri and go home. They were halfway through watching a nature documentary and he knew she was anxious to see the fate of the lions.

He didn’t need to even remove his ticket from his pocket, so he was starting to see this whole thing as a giant waste of time, as rich people claimed their rich prizes, and the kind-looking teacher on stage grew more nervous as the drawing went on.

“Alright ladies and gentlemen. We’ve come to our last drawing of the night.” The hushed excitement in the room had everyone laser focused on the teacher on stage. “Our last lucky winner tonight is...ticket 84569!”

There was a long silence of parents muttering dejectedly to one another, curious heads flipping around to look for any ecstatic responses. A heavy feeling settled in Geralt’s gut as his hand retrieved the small ticket from his jeans pocket. He read the numbers. He read them again. Yennefer giggled into her cup.

“Fuck.”

* * *

There were few moments in Jaskier’s life that he’d consider “formative”. In his liberal arts-trained opinion, people were always evolving, always changing whatever “form” they might be in. However, some people, some events, stood out like bold, underlined, italicized, 72-point font in the book of his life. 

Going on a date with Geralt du Rivia was one of those.

The date the school had paid for was in a local French restaurant. Normally, Jaskier would have been fine with just a casual dinner somewhere less up-scale, but he didn’t have the liberty of changing plans last-minute.

Jaskier hadn’t been on a real date in almost a decade. Guarded hearts don’t make welcome homes, and all that. He stilled his hands from where they were trembling against his feeble tie-knotting efforts, and pressed them into the dresser top. Things were different this time. They were going to be different. Jaskier knew what signs were red flags, which ones were dangerous. He kept chanting to himself how the fundraiser would boost his department, so he wouldn’t have to keep paying for his students’ things out of pocket every term.

This whole thing was Yen’s idea, anyway. He could blame her if this whole thing went pear-shaped. The science department never wanted for more funding, seeing as almost every dad with eyes kept writing checks whenever Yennefer would bat her pretty eyes.

He knew working in art would mean starving himself, emotionally or otherwise. Whoring himself out to some greedy parent would be the means to an end. “Just keep telling yourself that, Jaskier,” he muttered as he slipped on his jacket. There. Presentable theatre arts professor chic. He snapped a picture to send to Yen, who responded crazy fast, as she always did.

Geralt du Rivia hadn’t been at Aretuza very long, or rather, his daughter hadn’t been enrolled very long, but Jaskier remembered the bright young girl well enough. She had a charming smile, ash-blonde hair, and a wise look in her green eyes that hid the depth of knowledge she was no doubt hiding.

Her father, on the other hand. He was tall as a tree with limbs just as thick. He’d heard through the grapevine he was a combat veteran, which he’d guessed after what happened in July, and should have worried him up until the moment Geralt insisted on claiming the date. His eyes were some kind of warm molten honey color that only added to his silver hair. It didn’t look bleached that way, so perhaps going gray young was just exceptionally prominent in the du Rivia family. Behind all the surface-level gorgeousness of the Canadian expat, Geralt du Rivia hid something behind his eyes the same way his daughter did.

* * *

Jaskier and Yennefer had been friends for a long time. He’d moved to Michigan seven years prior, outrunning the past like anyone else coming from New York, and had fallen into friendship with Yen as if the world had deemed it so. They shared interests, they shared jobs, and they shared dramatic pasts. They’d both moved here to get away from the bustle of their previous lives, and found peace in that.

There’d been a moment of sheer panic when Jaskier had realized who had ‘won’ him at the school raffle. The panic stemmed from the memory of the first time Jaskier had seen Geralt in person:

Yennefer had been dragging Jaskier to the gym as long as he’d been dragging her to dance clubs. With both of them working early school hours, the only time they’d been able to go work out together was in the mornings before their commutes. Tradition had dictated that after every Cardio Thursday came Coffee Thursday, at the same hole-in-the-wall shop they’d gone to for many years. There was probably a joke in that, somewhere. Two people keen on keeping life interesting have a strict routine, together.

It was one of these mornings where Jaskier was still hardly awake after a five-a.m. spin class, nursing a cup of mostly cream and sugar, when one of the baristas tittered loudly.

“Here he comes!”

The excitement turned all heads toward the large panes at the front.

It was at that moment that time seemed to slow down, stupid slow. Silly teen movie, just-saw-the-new-girl-flip-her-hair slow. It took the man barely three seconds to jog by the coffee shop, but the whole place had gone silent watching him go. He had long silver hair, tied up in the back, giving a perfect view of sharp cheekbones and a sharper jaw. It was still fairly chilly outside, but he seemed unaffected by the cold, jogging as he was with a tank top that was more holes than fabric.

And then he was gone, and half the coffee shop was shrieking in delight at one another.

Coffee Thursday became more worshiped than Cardio Thursday, even though Yen complained incessantly that “three seconds of watching someone jog by a window is not a good enough reason to get out of bed at five in the morning, Jaskier.”

“I’m gonna do something.” Jaskier said, a wild look in his eyes, one morning. Hot Jogging Man was probably on his way now, slowing down his run for the ladies. But Jaskier was an ambitious bisexual man, and fortune favored the bold.

Cup of coffee in his hands, he could tell when the man was approaching. He practically kicked the front door down just as the man ran up—

Hands held him in place, hands too strong and warm for Jaskier to forget easily. There was a flurry of motion as he was carefully spun around like a revolving door, held in this man’s hands. Jaskier’s eyes looks widely up at the other man, and met—

Gold. Copper. Bronze. Everything molten in that look, the same heat in his hands, the same heat roaring to life in Jaskier’s gut. God, but that face was just something else, something Jaskier couldn’t put into _words,_ and putting complex feelings into words was his favorite pastime.

And then those hands were gone, that face turned away, and even, rhythmic steps away outpaced the racing of his heart. Before he could stop himself, Jaskier whistled low at the man, getting the best look of his ass he’d gotten so far. _But oh, to watch him leave…_

A flash of yellow eyes, a smirk on those lips, and the man turned a corner.

Yen had not been able to stop laughing at him the entire way home, and Jaskier wasn’t sure what was so funny.

* * *

Jaskier willed those thoughts out of his mind, watered his houseplant, and went on to see what this date would hold.


	2. Chapter 2

Geralt and Jaskier both showed up to the date embarrassingly early, despite the heavy knots of dread in both their guts. Jaskier, with the advantage of being shorter than other diners, spotted Geralt before Geralt saw him.

He was in a dark charcoal-gray shirt, casual but fitted, especially around those massive arms and that barrel chest of his. Jaskier knew this was just some kind of one-on-one discussion instead of an actual date, but damn if it didn’t get his blood boiling in his veins. Geralt’s hair was hanging loose around his shoulders, still slightly damp from a shower, and frizzing slightly, but Jaskier wanted nothing more than to shove his hands into those tresses and not let go until he’s a screaming mess.

_ Okay, horny. Let’s not jump to conclusions. _

He shoved his stupid slutty lizard brain to the side and approached with an easy smile. “Mr. du Rivia?” he asked, tilting his head to the side.

“Call me Geralt.” God, having those intense amber eyes on him again made the slutty lizard brain rear up and shout.

“Well then, call me Jaskier.”

* * *

They were seated across from one another at a table near the back. Geralt had taken the seat that faced the door, something Jaskier didn’t mind, and completely understood when remembering his background. Things were a bit stilted and nervous and awkward as they ordered some drinks. Their menu was already taken care of, courtesy of Aretuza.

“So you’re new to Michigan, right?” Jaskier asked. His heart hasn’t stopped skipping in his chest for the last ten minutes.

Geralt nodded and gave a grunt. “M’from Quebec.” he said after a beat, realizing that he should be actually talking and holding a conversation.

“Oh interesting!” Jaskier said. The delight on his face was a striking departure from the barely-concealed lust Geralt usually got from the PTA moms who discovered his expat status. “I have a good friend from Quebec, she’s another teacher at Aretuza.”

Geralt nearly choked on his water. “Oh, didn’t know that,” he rasped. “Maybe we’ll run into each other.”

The silence passed their table again before Jaskier spoke up. “What do you do for a living? You know I’m an arts professor.”

Geralt sat back and looked like he was searching for an answer. Jaskier fiddled with his pinky ring for a moment, nervous. “I get a nice paycheck from the Canadian government for my service, sometimes I pick up private security jobs around town. Lotta concerts come through here.”

“That they do. You look like you’d be good for that.” Jaskier said, then kicked himself for flirting with a fucking parent so easily.

To his surprise, Geralt only laughed, a small chuckle into his glass, but it still made Jaskier’s heart flutter. “Thank you, Jaskier.” He leveled him with a look before adding, “You look like a good arts professor as well.” Jaskier certainly did not blush like a little boy, certainly not. He pushed his glasses back up again.

“It’s a fun job, always something interesting happening.” He smiled.

“If interesting things happen all the time, don’t you get bored?” Geralt asked. He was relaxing and wasn’t looking at Jaskier like a skittish deer, instead he was looking at him like he was a particularly interesting puzzle.

“Ah, you’d think.” Jaskier sipped his wine. “I love children, though. I don’t think it’d be possible to be a good teacher if I didn’t. Besides, college was absolutely bonkers and every day was interesting in its own way then, I don’t think I could tire of academics if I wanted to.”

“Where’d you go to college?”

“Juilliard, actually.” Jaskier said, poshly, despite his best efforts.

“I thought Juilliard graduates went on to be Hollywood or Broadway performers.”

Jaskier shook his head. “The more famous alumni are from the drama department, but there’s a very elite music and dance program as well. It took me a long time to leave school, I kept wanting to learn all I could.” he laughed, and Geralt’s puzzle-solving expression softened.

“What do you play?” Geralt said softly, like he couldn’t keep himself from enjoying Jaskier’s chatter.

“Oh, anything with strings. Piano included.” Geralt got a mischievous look in his eye.

“Lute.”

“Love a lute.”

“Banjo.”

“It was hell, along with the mandolin.”

“Cello.”

“I’m passable, but wouldn’t go as far to say I’m good at it.”

“Harp.”

“Bloody heavy things.”

“Singing?”

“That’s not a stringed instrument.” Jaskier smirks.

“Vocal chords, Jaskier.” Geralt is so disarming, just sitting there across from him like he wasn’t worming his way into Jaskier’s poor romantic heart.

“You’ve got me there. But yes, I sing. Anywhere and anytime I can.” They grinned at each other, just enjoying being able to. Their food came quickly after, and Jaskier just basked in the feeling of contentment the two of them had made. Jaskier felt so comfortable here, heart wrapped in a large fist belonging to the man across the table from him.

“I don’t usually go out for stuff like this.” Jaskier commented on their cassoulet.

Geralt paused, trying to understand his meaning. “Beans?”

“I mean more…” he waved his fork in a circle. “Fancy stuff. Not exactly my fare, you know? Or budget, let’s be real.” Geralt nodded.

“When I heard this would be at a French bistro, I was worried they’d be serving things by the spoonful. Deconstructed escargot and all that.” Jaskier was so caught off-guard by the joke that he nearly choked on a piece of pork. The rest of the night generally followed that pattern: Jaskier babbling, Geralt saying two or three disarming words, and the both of them sharing a deeper look than the last.

* * *

“You have a daughter, yes?” Jaskier asked.

Geralt lit up different from how he had the entire night. “Ciri.” He nodded and pulled out his phone - and Jaskier had to steel his face at the presence of a fucking flip phone in Geralt’s hand. A small albeit blurry photo of a young girl with ash-blonde hair and a toothless smile was Geralt’s phone background. God, there was even a huge crack through the screen and half a button on the keypad was broken off.

“Oh she’s so adorable.” Jaskier gushed. “I bet she has all her teachers wrapped around her little finger.” He grinned up at Geralt, who gave an exasperated, if good-natured, sigh.

“You don’t know the half of it. She didn’t get any of her charm from me, that’s for sure.”

“Oh, bollocks. I don’t believe that. You’ve been charming me left and right all night, even if you may have not been intending to.” This made Geralt smirk, and Jaskier was transported a few months back watching that same smirk disappear around a corner. “If I may ask, is Ciri’s mother still in the picture?” Jaskier ventured, emboldened by the bottle of wine they’d been splitting the whole night.

Geralt gave him kind of a look.

“We were never really together, kind of a ‘ships in the night’ deal.” Something sparks in Jaskier’s mind, but he can’t put his finger on it. “I was on leave before my last tour overseas. We’d gone to school together, and had gone out for drinks. Wasn’t a super special night, I’ll be honest, but by the time I found out she was pregnant, I was already halfway through being discharged for...well, discharged. She didn’t want to be a mom, and without anything else going on in my life, I thought being a dad shouldn’t be much harder than sniper school.” Geralt shrugged, and Jaskier was still trying to pick out why this story sounded familiar. “Best job I’ve ever had. But no, Ciri’s mom isn’t exactly involved. We’re on great terms, but not in a relationship. She’s more of an aunt, but Ciri doesn’t know.”

Suddenly it all clicked.

_ Quebec. Ships in the night. More of an aunt. _

Jaskier stumbled through a bit more of conversation with Geralt before excusing himself to the restroom. His hands shook as he fumbled through his contacts before finding the one he needed to call.

“Yyyyello.” Yen answered, a smirk in her tone.

“ _ Am I on a date with your baby daddy and you didn’t tell me? _ ” Jaskier hissed hysterically into the phone.

Yen didn’t answer but started laughing in the same way she had when Jaskier had whistled at Geralt in front of the coffee shop, the same way she had when Geralt had chosen to go on the date with Jaskier at the raffle. Answer enough.

“You bitch, I’m never talking to you again.” Jaskier hung up and scrubbed at his face with water from the sink.

He was on a spectacular first date with a parent of a student at his school, and his best friend’s baby daddy. This was fine. He was absolutely fine.

He returned to the table and took another sip of his wine. “You know, I thought this was going to be the worst date of my life when I first started thinking about it.” Jaskier blurted out.

“Well, we still have to get through dessert.” Geralt smirked. “What’s the worst? I have to know what I’m competing with.”

Jaskier felt at ease once more. “Well. I haven’t been on an actual date since college, if I’m being honest.” he confessed. “But...okay, yes. I have it.”

“I wait with bated breath.” Geralt deadpanned. Jaskier rolled his eyes and began.

“So I had been in my...what was it, third year of Juilliard? This visiting speaker was holding a seminar for some first-year vocalist students, and my advisor asked me to accompany him on piano and guitar. I did, and he asked me out to dinner right before the seminar started. Back then, I tended to just agree with anything if I was panicked enough about it. So I agreed, and he took me to dinner at this...okay, it wasn’t that bad of a place, pretty much everyone in Juilliard had gone on a first date there, though, so I was already getting weird vibes from it all.”

“Was he weird or was the place weird?”

“All artists are weird, Geralt. Stop interrupting.” He was given a chuckle for his troubles. “Anyway. There’s just a weird feeling over it all. I was essentially coerced into this date, so I wasn’t trying hard to impress him at all. First of all, he ordered  _ for me, _ and I was a vegetarian at the time, Mad Cow and all, so I am about to get into telling him this when he just rips into this weirdly condescending spiel about how respected he is in Florida, and among Floridian musicians. The way he was talking about it almost made me forget that Florida wasn’t a small yet respected country and instead a state barely hanging onto the continent.”

“How was he condescending?”

“He kept making these obtuse allusions to my accompanist performance that evening, talking about how accompanists shouldn’t be a distraction to their seminar leader and all that.”

“He was insulting you for being beautiful.” Geralt did not sound impressed whatsoever. “I don’t think I can top that, honestly. I could start hitting on the waiter to make you feel better.”

Jaskier laughed around his creme brulee and almost spit it everywhere. Before he could say anything, Geralt continued.

“I know this date is already paid for but I could always just leave a bad Yelp review right here.”

“It’s late in the month, wouldn’t you go over your data minutes, Mr. Flip Phone?” Jaskier shot back when he could breathe again.

“The Samsung Sync is a perfectly acceptable phone, I don’t need an app to solve problems.”

“True, if you had a smartphone, you’d be buried behind it this whole date, wouldn’t you?” Jaskier grinned.

“I’ll upgrade when I can no longer just walk away from conflict.”

They bantered awhile longer before the check came, paid for by the gift card Geralt had won at the raffle. They retrieved their jackets and Geralt motioned for Jaskier to turn. With a blush, Jaskier let Geralt help him into his jacket, feeling warm all over at once. Geralt ended by smoothing down invisible lines on Jaskier’s shoulders, leaving a scorching path that seared into his bones and stole the wind from his chest.

“I think you’ll have to try harder to get on my bad date list, Geralt du Rivia.” Jaskier said, nervousness resumed for the first time since their date began. The sun was just about to set, making Geralt’s hair reflect hot red and orange tones in the evening light. It was breathtaking.

“Well if I’ve already lost that fight, can I walk you to your car?” Jaskier nodded, heart in his throat.

“Do you walk home everyone you go on dates with?”

“Only the ones I like.” Geralt said, almost under his breath. Jaskier made a note to make a doctor’s appointment, prolonged exposure to Geralt du Rivia apparently induced arrhythmia.

Jaskier walked as slowly as he could without looking stupid but they reach his car too quickly for his liking.

“Well. This is me.” he motioned to his powder-blue Prius. Geralt gave it a look that expressed disappointed understanding, like he was saying  _ of course you drive a Prius. _ “Thank you, you know. For not being a jerk. You’re actually pretty amazing, Geralt.” He hoped that he wasn’t interpreting their chemistry wrong.

“Could say the same for you.” Geralt said softly, leaning on Jaskier’s car with eased posture. “I hope I see you again soon.” he said, opening Jaskier’s door for him. Jaskier stepped closer, looking up with unguarded affection in his expression.

Quick as a flash, Geralt leaned down and pressed a sweet, soft kiss to Jaskier’s cheek. He smelled like soap, mint, and a bit of smoke. “Goodnight, Jaskier.”

He left Jaskier standing there, stunned, until a great big grin covered his face and he finally drove home.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has LOVELY fanart drawn by the amazing [janthonyashtoreth on their Instagram!](https://www.instagram.com/p/B9H-vjhFWBF/) Please give them a follow, they're responsible for anything amazing you love in this AU. (Art contains spoilers for the end of this chapter!)

“How _dare_ you.” Jaskier barged into Yennefer’s house with only accusatory preamble.

Before Yennefer could laugh, however, she decided to dress, as she was traipsing about her house in the nude. It was her house. She emerged from her bedroom in a black robe, hair looking stupid perfect.

“You say that like you didn’t have a good time.” She said, going to the refrigerator to grab them some wine.

“I didn’t say that, you know better than anyone that I had a good time.” Jaskier assumed his place on the couch, pulling papers out to grade.

This had been a tradition since their first year teaching together. They’d grade, wine, and bitch until one of them fell asleep practically weekly. Yennefer’s couch was a second bed for Jaskier.

“Well, tell me more.” Yennefer implored. Jaskier collapsed back with a dramatic sigh.

“He was…” he huffed a breath. “Amazing. How on earth did you two never get together?”

“We’re both fire signs, Jas.” Yen said, like that explained everything. “We also bicker at each other constantly and mostly speak to one another in asking favors.”

“How come you didn’t tell me before? Even after the Fourth of July, even after Coffee Thursday? Bless it, there were two weeks between the raffle and last night that you could have just said ‘oh, hey Jas, by the way, the man you’ve been wanking to the last several months knocked me up.’”

“Would _you_ have had such a fun time if you’d known?” Yen countered, sipping her wine.

Jaskier sipped his own wine in response, knowing she was right. “Either way, you didn’t have to laugh at me for finally figuring it out.” He pouted, and she leaned her head on his shoulder.

“Jaskier, you’ll come to understand me, in time.”

“What, when I’m dead?” He sassed.

“Perhaps.”

They passed the night like this. Jaskier went over almost everything said during the fateful date, multiple times. The grading had long been finished, as had two bottles of wine, by the time he covered his face with his hands.

“I’m dating a student’s parent.” he moaned woefully.

“No, you’re not. You have a _crush_ on a student’s parent.” Yen pointed out, just as drunk as he was, yet more emotionally stable.

“Isn’t that worse? What if I get Ciri in my class? I’ll be under scrutiny from the man I want to bone, and my best friend.” He peeked at Yennefer between his fingers.

“I wouldn’t scrutinize anything you do, Jaskier.” Yennefer pulled him into her arms. “You’re a very good teacher. If you do get Ciri in your class, she’ll be none the better for it.” She insisted. “Geralt, on the other hand...well, he’s used to having anyone Ciri meets be under her cute spell.”

“I love her already.” Jaskier admits. “Anyone that can soften a man like Geralt du Rivia that much is a saint in my book.” Yennefer rolled her eyes.

“When Ciri came…” Yennefer trailed off. “It was the first and only time I’d ever seen Geralt cry.” Jaskier looked at her with surprise, like he wasn’t aware that the man even _could_ cry. “Ciri looked so small in his hands. We’d already talked about how the arrangement would be, me being hands-off, for the most part, but… Jaskier, I haven’t ever seen Geralt as completely vulnerable as he was in that moment.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Jaskier asked in a small, soft voice, almost a whisper between the two of them.

“Because he’s starting to look that way about you.”

* * *

The PTA meeting after their ‘date’ was a little tense, with almost everyone in attendance looking between Geralt and Jaskier like they were going to give away some body language that would reveal all the juicy details from their evening together. Jaskier sat at his seat at the table as one of the department leads, notes compiled. A teacher stood up promptly at the beginning of the meeting, waving a clipboard in the air.

“We’re passing around a sign-up sheet asking for chaperones for the school dance in two weeks, the dance will go from 7-10 p.m. and there are two options for volunteering: chaperoning and tear-down help. The students in student government will be setting up the dance earlier in the day, so you’ll just have to break down tables after. We’d really appreciate anybody’s help in this.”

The clipboard started its journey through the cafeteria, weaving through aisles and tables.

Geralt was sitting next to Yennefer, arms crossed and knees spread. He claimed not to want to draw any attention, even though he was taking up as much space as possible, according to Yennefer. “You know he hasn’t been able to talk about anything else for the last week, right?” Yen murmured under the prattle of Tissaia, who ran most proceedings of the PTA, as Aretuza’s principal. She was a severe-looking woman who had last headed up the science department Yen worked in now, before becoming principal.

“Hm.” Geralt grunted.

“Why didn’t you ask him out again? Or at least get his number?” Yen asked, nudging him with her knee.

“Didn’t think to, at the time. Wasn’t exactly focusing on anything other than the present, Yen.” Geralt said, prickly as ever.

“Oh, I’m certain. Do you want his number? We’re quite good friends.” She let the sibilants fall between her teeth, grinning as they were between a stretched smile.

Geralt scoffed. “Yes, I’m aware. He practically jumped out of his skin when he realized Ciri was our making.” He smirked and they both raised their hands in a vote. Geralt hadn’t been paying attention, but Yen knew what was on the agenda and he trusted her judgement. He noted that several other parents raised their hand when he did, and sighed. Blind leading the blind.

“He called me in hysterics from the restroom.” Yen hid her grin under a pamphlet, pretending to yawn.

“I think several tables were aware as well.” Geralt shifted. A clipboard came to their aisle. “You doing this?” he asked, gesturing as it made its way into her hands. Some parents were making whiny complaints to the front row of teachers. Geralt watched Jaskier wince and offer some placating response to someone or another. His mouth was pleasant to look at. That was something that had kept him awake for many long hours after their date.

“Nah, I can’t stand horny dancing if I can’t participate.” Yen sighed. “Jaskier hasn’t suggested a single club night since running into you at the coffee shop.”

“Yeah, I wonder why.” Geralt muttered, taking the clipboard from her hands. Written right at the very bottom of the list was Jaskier’s name, followed by his phone number, New York area code. Yen noticed his staring.

“Oh look, you could break the sanctity of the sign-up sheet and get his number now.” Yen pointed out, unhelpful to a fault.

Geralt was quiet for a moment. He felt Jaskier looking at him, and just when had that become a familiar feeling?

“Got a pen?”

* * *

Chaperoning the dance was a completely different monster than trying to run point on a mission in enemy territory, Geralt found. Sweaty, over-dressed kids were dancing (at respectable distances) on a taped-off dancefloor, with twenty or so tables surrounding it for the benefit of the tired or less-inclined. The DJ was entirely too loud for Geralt’s ears to handle, but that was just the nature of the beast. Most kids were too scared to dance closer than two feet together after a level look from Geralt, but he tried not to glare as much, these days.

Of course, Jaskier looked gorgeous across the makeshift dancehall. He was done up in a light blue shirt and no tie, for once. His pants were obscenely tight, in Geralt’s opinion, but he thought all clothes looked _wrong_ on Jaskier the moment he saw them. That little open vee of chest hair and the rumpled look to his hair made him wonder at a few more dangerous thoughts of his own.

They continued making eyes at one another across the room, even though they didn’t mean to. They shared a whole conversation based on eye contact.

 _Can you believe these children?_ Geralt expressed.

 _We didn’t look this ridiculous, did we?_ Jaskier answered, smiling heartily.

 _Probably, who knows._ Geralt shrugged.

 _You’re gorgeous._ Geralt continued.

 _You’re too much._ Jaskier blushed.

Jaskier noticed Tissaia coming up to him, and smiled at her in acknowledgement. “I didn’t know I’d have to separate the chaperones for getting too saucy with one another.” she teased in his ear, over the dull roar of the music. “First strike, Mr. Pankrantz.” She left with a laugh, tinkling like bells on a breeze. Jaskier felt truly scolded, blushing rather prettily.

Geralt couldn’t help but stare.

* * *

Close to the end of the dance, with all the oxygen sucked from the room, parents eager to get home from their volunteer duties began tearing down decorations, plucking stars suspended on fishing line from the ceiling, and taking down taped-on streamers of blue and gold. The DJ was kind enough to keep music going, at a much lower volume.

Geralt had hardly heard the beginning of the song, but at the first lyrics his head snapped up in recognition. Every school dance from middle school to high school played this song, albeit not as soft of a cover as this. His heart caught in his throat as he locked eyes with Jaskier, a scant fifteen feet away.

Jaskier didn’t look hopeful, no. He never did anything by halves, and that included his crushes. He looked like the epitome of longing, holding a gold streamer in his hand like a lifeline. Geralt straightened up and raised his eyebrows, tilting his head to the now-empty dance floor. A grin exploded on Jaskier’s face, and Geralt held out his hand, signaling for him to come dance.

They came together clumsily, in the breath of silence offered by the singer, neither having done this in more than a decade. Jaskier allowed himself to be held by the only one he’d trusted enough to not let go. Hands on a chest and hands on hips, close as lovers, they swayed. Jaskier looked up and smiled softer, content to just gently toy his fingers through the shorter hairs at the back of Geralt’s neck, ecstatic to be in his arms. He remembered what it felt like to be a repressed queer little boy hoping to be a little less repressed for a song, for a night. 

Geralt was having a deeper epiphany. With his hands on Jaskier’s lower back, he was struck by a (truly, madly) deep realization. Holding Jaskier that close, surrounded by warmth and music, he swore he saw his future. They weren’t technically even dancing, just holding each other for the first time, for the last time, because they each knew they wouldn’t let go.

Humbled by the moment, by their closeness, Geralt leaned his head down, resting his forehead against Jaskier intimately. His senses were going wild, he was feeling everything at once like his skin was on fire, and gods, he could smell the minty flavor of Jaskier’s mouthwash, he had never envied a dental hygiene product as vividly as he did then. The thought makes him smile deliriously, a parched man dancing with his water. Jaskier just smiled up at him, still so close, close as lovers. Those big blue eyes Geralt was half in love with closed, taking in the moment like the storm before the calm.

_You don't have to close your eyes_

_'Cause it's standing right before you_

_All that you need will surely come_

Those eyes flashed open again, filled with an intense heat, a loyalty he couldn’t place, a vulnerability he sensed like a tremor in his hands. He tightened his hand in the back of Jaskier’s shirt, pulling him in and actually dancing to the music now, face buried in Jaskier’s hair. They had no time left in the song. He felt Jaskier’s smile in his chest as he turned and danced them around, lifting Jaskier from the floor with sheer momentum and strength. Jaskier’s gasp only doubled when he moved his hand up to Jaskier’s shoulders, just below his neck, dipping him low to the floor with almost no effort. They felt drunk on each other, bodies moving and twisting together in a pale mockery of what Geralt wanted to do.

Geralt let him twirl out from him before reeling him in once more, catching him so he ended with his back to Geralt’s front. Geralt cradled them close and swayed them once more, face buried in the soft skin of Jaskier’s neck. Jaskier turned in his arms, the same position they started in.

_I want to live like this forever_

_Until the sky falls down over me..._

Geralt laid a gentle, soft kiss to Jaskier’s lips, affectionate and tender, before he reluctantly let go, mind spinning out of the atmosphere in a frantic waltz with his heart.

The whole cafeteria was looking at them with rapt attention. Some had jaws on the floor, some were smiling softly. The DJ on the meager stage looked upset, he couldn’t suspend happiness for these two fools. Their glass castle had shattered already, and how beautiful it was.

The cleanup was a lot faster now than before their impromptu dance, with other volunteers shooing them away to other tasks, insisting they had it covered.

Geralt sidled up to Jaskier and smiled. “I think they’re telling us to get outta here.” He murmured in Jaskier’s ear, putting his hands on Jaskier’s slim hips. “Wanna come home with me?” he purred.

“Yes,” Jaskier breathed. “Can I drive?” he asked, turning around in Geralt’s arms.

“Anything you want, sweetheart.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song they dance to is the Yoke Lore cover of a song called Truly Madly Deeply, you can find it on [Spotify](https://open.spotify.com/track/0hLObGB9xRjuRVasHehmLI?si=cSqz4eLjSm-9ykYe2v8Tqg) and [Youtube](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tE80-ZBLnLs)!
> 
> [Here's the link again to the beautiful fanart of Geralt and Jaskier's dance!](https://www.instagram.com/p/B9H-vjhFWBF/) Warning: listening to the song while looking at this fanart will cause eyeball leakage.
> 
> (also listen to [The Horror and the Wild by the Amazing Devil on Bandcamp](https://theamazingdevil.bandcamp.com/album/the-horror-and-the-wild))


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note the rating change :)

Honestly, they almost died during the drive to Geralt’s house. It wasn’t a surprise that Geralt lived in a house rather than an apartment, like Jaskier. 

“Ciri’s at Yen’s.” Geralt said, scrunched as he was in Jaskier’s passenger seat. Jaskier’s guitar was shoved haphazardly into the back of the Prius with his schoolbag, binders full of graded homework and assignments. English. Theatre. Choir. Jaskier had shoved his whole life until this point in the back seat for Geralt, who was looking at him with a happy look in those amber eyes, telling him where to go.

Jaskier relied on ten years of American driving to get them where they needed to go. It was a miracle they didn’t wrap around a lamp post when Geralt put one hand on his knee.

In an effort to break the silence, Jaskier’s lips stated, “You kissed me.” He wanted more information, a background, context for the best moment of Jaskier’s life to date.

“I did.” Geralt said, proud and happy.

“In front of all those people.”

“Didn’t want anyone getting the wrong opinions about what we are.” And that, the present tense he was teaching fourth graders, the continuing notion that  _ they  _ were  _ us _ and  _ we, _ and always would be so. That set the oven in Jaskier’s blood to some hotter temperature, on its way to boiling without a care for the world.

“I like it when you talk about us.” Jaskier said at a stoplight, turning his eyes onto Geralt’s with ease. Geralt settled back in his seat, gripping his hand on Jaskier’s thigh, bringing the other up the thigh of legs Jaskier had been thinking about for what felt like  _ centuries. _

“It’s just right here.” Geralt murmured, letting those fingers, that thumb, dance around Jaskier’s thigh as he struggled to remember how to  _ park _ in this damned car.

Geralt was all over Jaskier the moment they were parked and the car was off. Hot breaths served currency between the two, lips pressing desperate kisses together. Jaskier couldn’t hold in the soft keen he made when Geralt nipped at his lower lip with sharp teeth. Jaskier’s hands flapped uselessly at the seat belt before Geralt undid it for him, impatient to a fault. “Let’s go inside, sweetheart.” Geralt rasped, the swelling in his pants the only sign he was at all affected by having Jaskier’s body so close. Jaskier nodded dumbly and disentangled his limbs from Geralt’s so they could leave.

* * *

Passion, heat, all the things that could describe Jaskier’s blood racing through his veins didn’t even come close to the feeling of Geralt’s lips on his. A sharp whimper escaped his lips at the sensation of lips and  _ teeth _ on his neck, and Jaskier could do nothing but squirm against the wall behind him. He huffed a breath, feeling as though he’d run a mile to Geralt’s arms, though he knew he’d run a whole lot more just to feel  _ this  _ again.

Geralt’s hands were pulling up his shirt, a move more intimate than Jaskier had fully appreciated before that moment. As warm fabric slid up his belly, was rent open by careful hands on delicate buttons, Jaskier could only slide further into the feeling of being held, owned.

And oh, what a fist to be held in.

There wasn’t much time between when Jaskier was clothed and when he wasn’t, writhing and whimpering against the front fucking door. “Geralt, as much as I’d like to continue this right here, I’m sure it’d be more comfortable in your bed.” Jaskier whispered, voice on its way to hoarse.

“You’re still talking. That’s a problem.” Geralt grumbled, suddenly lifting Jaskier by his thighs and holding him aloft. Jaskier’s arms fumbled around his neck, hands burying in those silver tresses, dark as shadow now in the dim house.

Jaskier could only hold on as he was bodily transported upstairs, down a hall, and deposited onto a bed. In that time, Geralt had also laid no less than three biting kisses to his collarbone. Jaskier hadn’t been this hard in years.

The bed was fucking enormous, and from where Jaskier could see those hot amber eyes, he knew it was pretty high off the ground. “God I want you.” Jaskier felt the confession pulled from him against his will, full id.

Geralt was still clothed. That was a problem. Jaskier rolled to the side, pawing at his shirt desperately. Geralt chuckled and batted his hands away, undoing the buttons swiftly and pulling the shirt off his massive forearms. Jaskier bracketed his hips with his thighs, scooting in and pressing kisses from his shoulder down his arm, then back to his chest. There were a few scars, one especially ugly one spanning the side of Geralt’s ribs, long-healed but marled and angry. Jaskier felt their passion settle a moment as he gently ran his fingertips over the scar, reverent and careful. He met Geralt’s eyes, and was met with an unreadable expression. Still locking eyes until he couldn’t, Jaskier leaned down and pressed his lips to the angry scar tissue. Geralt sucked in a breath, and laid gentle hands on the back of Jaskier’s head.

They held that moment in crystal clarity, an exchange of vulnerability. Geralt’s own hand drifted down to Jaskier’s left hip, where he bore his own scar. Geralt knew it was a gunshot wound.

He knew because they matched.

They fell together once more, lips desperate against any skin they could reach. “How do you want me?” Jaskier breathed against Geralt’s neck, hands going for Geralt’s belt. Geralt let out an honest-to-god  _ growl _ and pushed Jaskier against the bed, on his back. Jaskier had opened Geralt’s belt and gotten one button undone, so he had a smug look on his face as he squirmed enticingly.

Geralt shoved down his pants and briefs as quickly as he could, eyes roaming heavily over Jaskier’s body possessively. Jaskier could hardly get a look at Geralt before he was crawling on top of him, body radiating heat even from a few inches apart.

“Jaskier…” Geralt purred, enjoying the way he was making the man beneath him squirm and writhe. “I’m not even doing anything and you’re already a wreck.”

“No need to point it out, Geralt.” Jaskier huffed, hands moving to grab at Geralt, when they were suddenly pinned beneath a hand, firm and iron-gripped. He couldn’t help the moan that fell past his lips. He was practically panting for it now.

Geralt raked his eyes over Jaskier’s body once more. “You’re so fucking gorgeous.” Geralt said, barely loud enough for Jaskier to hear. “The things I want to do to you…”

“Do it. Do them. Do  _ something _ , Geralt, please…” Jaskier was very much not above begging. The darkening look in Geralt’s eyes only cemented that fact. Geralt placed a hot kiss on the soft skin of Jaskier’s tummy, leaving him shivering from the smooth warmth of his lips and the rasp of his stubble. Geralt pressed kiss after kiss down Jaskier’s body, sidestepping a very obviously neglected, leaking cock. Jaskier whined and tried to roll his hips, seeking friction.

The hand that was on Jaskier’s wrists flashed down to his hips, pinning them down with incredible strength. A groan punched from his chest. “You like being held down, sweetheart?” Geralt teased, pressing a kiss to each hipbone, getting closer to where Jaskier wanted every time. Jaskier nodded, more of a loll of his head than anything else.

Without preamble, Geralt wrapped a hand around Jaskier’s weeping cock. Jaskier let out an almost-pained moan, whole body shaking. “Geralt…” this definitely wouldn’t last long, for either of them.

Geralt gave him a few pumps before licking his lips and flashing his eyes back up so he could watch Jaskier watching him suck his cock. Jaskier’s mouth was caught in a little ‘o’ of surprise and amazement as Geralt’s lips parted and took the head of his cock into his mouth, swiping his tongue over the slit and groaning at the taste of him. The vibration from the moan only heightened the experience, and Jaskier almost came in his mouth right there.

“Geralt!” Jaskier yelped, hands coming up from where they were above his head to grasp at Geralt’s hair. He was still conscious enough to be gentle, not pulling, just hanging on. Geralt bobbed his head down his shaft, relying less on sucking him off than getting his cock nice and slick for the ride. Geralt palmed his own cock down below, really just teasing himself. Jaskier was making little needy noises as Geralt took him deeper, conveying his desperate nature as though that would urge Geralt on further.

They found a perfect rhythm. Jaskier lost himself in it, head whipping back and forth as Geralt drew him closer. The hand on Jaskier’s unmarked hip wasn’t leaving it that way for long, gripping a bruise into his skin, claiming him as his own. “Geralt, I’m—!” Jaskier shouted, thighs tensing up. Geralt growled in the back of his throat and took Jaskier down as far as he could, feeling his cock pulse on his tongue as his orgasm overtook him. Jaskier looked like a man possessed, and would have been writhing and lashing out if Geralt hadn’t been anchoring him down to the bed.

Geralt swallowed the last bits of Jaskier’s spend and looked up at the man trembling beneath him. He pressed kisses to the soft dusting of hairs on Jaskier’s thighs, reverent and calming. He moved to hold Jaskier’s waist, but the hand in his hair tightened a little, getting his attention.

“Wanna get you off…” Jaskier requested, struggling to sit up. Geralt, never one to turn down Jaskier, sat up on the bed with him.

“You don’t have to—” Geralt protested out of reflex. He wasn’t used to people wanting him after getting themselves off.

“I want to.” Jaskier insisted, more life and focus in his eyes than was before. “I want to.” He said again, softer. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to Geralt’s lips, slightly swollen after everything he’d just done. He moaned at the taste of his own cum on Geralt’s tongue, and Geralt tightened his hand at the back of Jaskier’s neck.

Jaskier’s hand traced little swirls and shapes into Geralt’s thigh, getting closer and closer to his cock. “Fuck I knew you’d be big.” Jaskier purred into Geralt’s neck, wrapping a hand around the base.

“Bet it’d feel bigger inside you.” Geralt quipped back, indulging in the shocked look in Jaskier’s eyes. Jaskier leaned in and nipped a kiss off of Geralt’s lips.

“Cheek.” he smirked, squeezing his hand a little harder. Geralt hissed and held onto Jaskier’s shoulders, pressing kisses to the side of his neck to distract himself from Jaskier’s hand, prolonging this just a little longer.

Jaskier eventually moved down the bed, and spread his lips around Geralt’s cock. He was not by any means massive, but definitely larger than Jaskier, who was having a little bit of trouble taking him down as easily as Geralt had him.

He felt divine. Geralt swore he saw stars when Jaskier moved around him. His mind, usually frantic with panic lurking in the corners, was blissfully, blessedly still. He groaned and fisted a hand in Jaskier’s hair, who whimpered happily from below.

“Not gonna last long, sweetheart.” Geralt grunted, moving his hips up slowly for Jaskier to take him deeper. Jaskier nodded and concentrated harder, tongue swirling around his head, dipping into the slit just how Geralt liked it. What he couldn’t fit in his mouth he had in his hand, pumping him in time with his ministrations.

The tightening knot of heat in Geralt’s gut was growing more taut by the moment, and it barely took Jaskier a handful of minutes before Geralt was shouting and cumming into Jaskier’s mouth. His cock fell out of Jaskier’s mouth a little, and shot a bit of cum onto his cheek and lips. The sight nearly sent him over the edge once more, such a delicate face as obscene as it was now.

They both panted a little, just looking at one another before breaking into huge delirious smiles. Geralt pulled him up and wiped away the remnants of his spend from Jaskier’s face. “We’re a mess.” Jaskier said, kissing his wrist delicately. 

Geralt pulled him into another kiss, the taste sharper now with the evidence of their activities. He felt a possessive thread begin to weave its way through his heart, sewing his to Jaskier.

“Let me clean you up.” Geralt said, already standing. Jaskier watched him walk to the bathroom, and quickly jog downstairs to retrieve his clothes.  _ Spending the night, then. _

Jaskier let Geralt clean him up, dragging a gentle damp washcloth over his whole body, leaving him clean and free of sweat. Geralt quickly cleaned himself up as well, and turned down the bed. They got in, next to each other. “Wanna keep having fun tonight?” Jaskier asked, though Geralt could see he was tired out.

“Just rest, sweetheart.” Geralt said, laying his head down next to him on the pillow. Jaskier made himself right at home in Geralt’s arms, and Geralt was struck with that same feeling he’d gotten earlier that night - that this was his future: Jaskier in his arms, a quiet and happy home on two legs. They fell asleep slowly, tangled up in one another.


	5. Chapter 5

Jaskier awoke suddenly, and there was a fleeting moment of panic when he couldn’t recognize his surroundings. He was in an exceptionally large bed, high off the ground, and it was still pretty dark. A clock on a nearby nightstand read that it was only four in the morning. As his senses came back one by one, he remembered the night before and blushed, hard. There was Geralt to prove it, lying on his side, with both arms reaching for Jaskier, who had rolled away at some point in the night. The man radiated heat like it was his job.

Jaskier let a small smile grace his lips at the sight. Geralt had a few strands of hair falling over his face, and he gently moved them away with quick, clever fingers. Jaskier spotted his clothes across the room, and damn, he’d slept in his contacts, hadn’t he? He tried to slip out of bed as softly as possible.

As soon as his feet hit the floor, he felt some unease. He’d stayed the night with Geralt. He’d _ slept _ with Geralt. Geralt probably didn’t want him to be around whenever Ciri came home. He winced. Maybe it was time to make his getaway, and fast.

As he padded over to the pile of clothes on the floor, he felt a hand wrap around his wrist, effectively catching him.

“Where’d you think you’re going?” Geralt asked, voice rough and slurred with sleep.

That panic he’d felt upon waking returned in spades. “I, erm.” Jaskier stuttered, trying not to think about how much that hand holding his wrist was affecting him. “I thought you might not want me round when Ciri gets h—oh!” The hand around his wrist pulled him back in.

“Nonsense. It’s too early for you to leave bed. Come back.” Geralt was putting up a rather good argument, and Jaskier could only melt back into those arms, held steady and close and safe and warm.

“I appreciate you not kicking me out.” Jaskier said, softly. It was initially meant as a joke, but he was truly, truly grateful. Geralt’s grip on him tightened just that much more, nose buried in Jaskier’s hair.

“Why would I ever let you go now that I have you here, sweetheart?” Geralt murmured, and Jaskier’s chest tightened, a fuzzy feeling making the backs of his eyes prickle. Probably the stupid contacts.

Jaskier was about to give another smartass answer, but Geralt interrupted him. “Go back to sleep.” He sealed it with a kiss to Jaskier’s head, thrilling him.

They slept once more.

* * *

Jaskier grunted in disgust when he woke to a much, much brighter room the second time. Hiding his face in the pillow, he enjoyed that it smelled like Geralt. Jaskier curled around it, just breathing. He could forgive waking up to an empty bed if it was Geralt’s. He preferred that over being cast out in the wee hours. Lifting his head, he blearily peered around the room. He removed his contacts and fumbled for his glasses in a jacket pocket.

Geralt’s bedroom was sparsely decorated, but what little decor existed was very natural. Bits of entwined vines and leaves and branches hung in intricate shapes on the walls, and a few small candles rested on a dresser in the corner. It resembled something of an altar, if Jaskier could be so bold to assume Geralt’s faith. The curtains were plain, pulled back, the same neutral gray as the bed. Jaskier snooped a little more as he got into his underwear and the soft shirt and sweatpants Geralt must have left for him. They swamped him, obviously Geralt’s. There were no pictures, save one lovely photo of Geralt with Ciri on his shoulders. They’re in a park somewhere, walking down a trail. He assumed that Yen had taken the picture. It was sweet, and Jaskier gave it a gentle smile.

He could smell bacon frying up from downstairs, and his head swam with the image of Geralt standing at a stove, cooking  _ breakfast _ for him. In an apron. Only an apron.

“Wow, being in your thirties really forces you to embrace domesticity, eh, Jaskier,” he scolded himself, adjusting his glasses before going downstairs.

As he neared the bottom landing, he heard talking: Geralt’s low murmuring and a higher, brighter voice conversing. His heart leapt in his throat as he realized Ciri must have returned home. How long had he been asleep?

“So why is Mr. Pankrantz here, Papa?” Ciri asked.

“Your grades were slipping, kid. Had to do something.” Jaskier almost slipped and fell the rest of the way down the stairs.

“I see.” the small voice replied, amazed.

Jaskier rounded the corner trepidatiously, poking his head out and not saying anything until Geralt looked up and broke into a fond smile. “Good morning, sleeping beauty.”

Jaskier blushed a little at the nickname, but approached. Ciri turned her head to look at him, ash-blonde hair done up in a pretty little braid he’s seen on Yen before. “Good morning.” Jaskier finally responded, smiling down at Ciri, sat on her knees on a barstool. “You must be Ciri.” he said kindly, holding his hand out.

“I am!” she beamed. “And you’re Mr. Pankrantz. I’ve heard you play guitar at lunchtime before!” She was bursting with that little-kid energy he loved so much, and he couldn’t help but laugh and lean on the kitchen counter toward her.

“I hope I was playing something you liked,” he said, a little more at ease. “And please, you can call me Jaskier if you’d like.” Geralt was watching the exchange with interest, holding back hope that they would get along.

“Okay. Jaskier.” She tried. “And I didn’t know what you were playing, but I really really liked it.”

“You make it sound like lunchtime is your favorite class, Ciri.” Geralt said with a smirk, flipping an egg using just the pan. Be still, Jaskier’s beating heart.

“Noooooo!” Ciri insisted, before going off on a tirade about how Geralt was  _ so  _ unfair and messed with her all too  _ much _ , and “I’m only eight years old, Papa, I’m  _ supposed  _ to like lunchtime,” and other wonderful lines Jaskier adored.

Geralt served up plates of eggs, potatoes, and thick bacon for the three of them. “This suit your tastes, Jas?” Geralt asked, grinning and taking a sharp bite of his bacon, locking eyes with Jaskier.

Jaskier had only been called Jas a few times in his life, and never by anybody nearly as attractive as Geralt. He could not conceal his wonder at the feeling, an enchanted smile slipping to his face. Geralt’s own expression softened, and a happy breakfast silence came over them all.

Until Ciri spoke up, and said, “I thought we weren’t allowed to have sleepovers, Papa.” Her bright green eyes were wide, innocent, and all the same, accusatory. 

Geralt actually choked on some bacon. Jaskier reached over and slapped his back a little, to help. “Sometimes adults just really want to have sleepovers.” Jaskier grinned at Ciri. “We were having too much fun and didn’t want it to end.”

“I wanna have sleepovers like that.” Ciri mused aloud.

Geralt snorted hot coffee through his nose.

“Well maybe when you don’t live with your dad anymore.” Jaskier tried, while Geralt tried to undo the consequences of inhaling his breakfast. Geralt just held up one finger and walked out the back door for some air.

“Papa it’s cooooold!” Ciri complained loudly at the frigid air rushing in. Jaskier had to grip the counter to keep from falling over laughing. Geralt was obviously not dealing with his first vision of the future of Ciri “having sleepovers” very well.

Outside on the covered patio, Geralt tried to calm his racing heart. Jaskier inspired some kind of forward look in his life, one that was bright and happy. For so long, he’d tried to keep it together, just him and Ciri, and never had any time to deal with the feelings that were plaguing his mind. Worry for the future. Not letting anyone in. Not acknowledging the ugly thing that had taken root and infected him overseas.

It would be a long, arduous process, but he wanted to be there with Jaskier, no matter where it led. He could feel it in the delight he felt in his laugh, the relief of his touch, the safety of his smile. Jaskier was a guiding light, a North Star in his black, black sky.

Geralt turned at the sound of giggling and soft, familiar music, struck still by the sight of Ciri dancing with Jaskier, her little feet on his. They were dancing to the song Geralt and Jaskier had danced to the night before. Geralt closed the door and leaned against the fridge, just watching them. Jaskier looked up, still caught up in the moment, and met Geralt’s eyes.

He knew it’d be okay.

* * *

Breakfast turned into lunch, and lunch turned into another evening at the du Rivia’s. Jaskier entertained with his guitar, showing off a few of the songs he’d written.

“I didn’t know you wrote songs.” Geralt said, Ciri napping in his lap. Jaskier was resting his voice.

“I went to school for composition for awhile. Kind of hit every department on my way down the graduation stage.” Jaskier said, gently rubbing at his side. He gave an uncomfortable twinge and grimaced. Geralt laid Ciri on the arm of the couch as gently as he could and got up, going to a cabinet Jaskier hadn’t noticed before.

“It’s your hip, right?” Geralt said, returning with a small jar of something medicinal smelling. Jaskier nodded. “I’ve got a few wounds like that myself. It’s that bone-deep pain that wakes you up at night, hm?” Geralt didn’t meet his eyes, only focused on opening the little salve.

“Yeah, something like that.” Jaskier whispered.

Geralt did not ask what happened for Jaskier to get his scars. Jaskier did not ask the same of Geralt.

But he did let Geralt hike up the huge shirt he was borrowing, and gently spread the cool salve over his skin, starting where a large, spidery leg of the scar began, trailing down to the angry oval-shaped entrance wound was. Geralt could read a lot more from the story on Jaskier’s skin than Jaskier was willing to say.

The bullet had most likely struck bone, his pelvis, and didn’t have a definite exit wound. A surgeon must have removed the bullet, but the impact of the bone would have definitely had shrapnel floating around. Bone shards. His mind supplied memories of seeing Jaskier walk, almost no limp. He wouldn’t have been able to tell if he hadn’t seen and felt the wound himself.

It was a hypnotizing moment, a trance of treatment that Geralt usually had to administer alone. He was glad to be able to provide this, but his unchecked anger bubbled up, somewhere far away. Someone did this to Jaskier, his Jaskier. When he finished applying the salve, he pulled the shirt back down over it, and pressed a kiss to where it stuck.

Jaskier’s hands, trembling, ran through Geralt’s hair, throat tight with emotion but still wanting to express gratitude. He let out a shaky breath, and Geralt finally looked up. “Better?” he asked, barely loud enough to make out.

Jaskier nodded.

“Better.”

* * *

When Jaskier finally, finally had to go home, from his 24-hour marathon second date with Geralt, as he was calling it, Geralt had insisted on washing his clothes and taking a shower together.

The heat was still there, the heat that sparked whenever Jaskier saw Geralt naked, but an overlying tenderness and understanding had settled in as well, a medicated balm over itchy scars. Geralt gently washed Jaskier down, and allowed him to do the same. They smelled like each other, warm and dry, afterwards. Geralt watched, half-dressed, from the bed with a scowl as Jaskier pulled on freshly-laundered clothes.

“I should just strip you out of those and keep you in my bed forever.” Geralt grumbled.

Jaskier, though tempted, gave him a gentle smile and a kiss for his troubles. “As nice as that sounds, I have a houseplant that misses me and about a hundred papers to grade.” Geralt held him close, burying his face in Jaskier’s chest.

“Do all that here.”

“You’re ridiculous.” Jaskier laughed. He pushed his fingers through Geralt’s silver locks, gently scritching at his scalp. Geralt grumbled happily and tightened his grip on Jaskier’s back. “I do want to see you again. And Ciri.” Jaskier said, petting the man beneath him.

“Good. See you right now.” Jaskier could only laugh again.

“I can’t let you keep seeing me in the same outfit for three days in a row.”

“Get you naked. No clothes to judge.” Geralt was pressing very distracting kisses on Jaskier’s tummy.

“How about I give you my number and we can regroup and see each other again soon? I really have to water my plant. He’s very picky.” Geralt was quiet for a moment, before he grunted and stood from the bed, still in Jaskier’s space. He towered over the other man, but didn’t intimidate or scare him.

“I can deal with that.” Geralt says. He pressed his phone into Jaskier’s hand, who fumbled with trying to remember how to use a flip phone for a moment, before eventually getting his number into Geralt’s contacts.

They walked downstairs again, with Geralt stopping to kiss Jaskier no less than four times on the way down. Ciri had already gone to bed by this time, so Jaskier didn’t need to say goodbye, but he knew he’d be seeing them all again very soon. Geralt, still frustratingly half-dressed, walked Jaskier to his car, and opened the door for him the same as he did on their first date.

“I hope we can have another  _ sleepover _ soon.” Jaskier joked, looking up at the man before him. He looked a little exasperated at his comment, but smirked and smiled all the same.

“We will, if I have anything to say about it.” Geralt said, before leaning down and cupping Jaskier’s face in his hands and kissing him softly, tenderly, knee-weakening.

“Goodnight, Geralt.”

“Goodnight, sweetheart. I’ll see you again soon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's all, folks! Once again, HUGE thanks to [Jay](https://janthonyashtoreth.tumblr.com/) and [tropicnanners](https://tropicnanners.tumblr.com/) for their wonderful contributions, open ears, shoulders to cry on, and beautiful motivation. You're both truly (madly, deeply) the best. 
> 
> If you loved this AU, please consider leaving kudos and comments, and if you want to see more, go ahead and hit me up on [my tumblr](https://imnotokiedokey.tumblr.com/) for any more ideas/updates I have going on. If you would like, feel free to subscribe to this series to get any and all PTAU-related postings I put on AO3! Love you all more than I can say!


End file.
